


"The Talk"

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 04:40:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3637062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: RootxShaw prompt- Root and Shaw are together, but haven't had the feelings talk. Whilst working on a number, Shaw gets drugged somehow which causes her to lose her mental filter. This leads to some hilarious, confusing, and just plain weird comments to Finch, Reese, and Root. Then after Root and Shaw get home, Shaw still in her drug induced haze confesses her true feelings for Root. Root realizes they will have a lot to talk about in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"The Talk"

Walking into the large warehouse, Root, Shaw, John, and Fusco come to a three way split at the entrance. Each leads into a long corridor with metal doors on either side.

"The data base shows that the most operatives are in the center hallway," Harold informs them through their ear pieces.

"Lionel and I will go straight forward, then," John responds to him and the rest of the group. "Shaw- Root? Take your pick." With that, the two men head forward- guns poised.

"I go right, you go left?" Shaw asks, eyes scanning down the corridor. Unlike her colleague, Root is not in mission mode.

"Whatever you want, Sam," she replies in an endearing trill, crossing behind her and towards the left hall. She stops momentarily behind her, giving her a short squeeze around the waist. "Be safe," she adds unnecessarily, a coy smile overcoming her face. Shaw merely looks at her and nods. Not sure what more to say, or how to say it, she replies,

"Um, yeah, Root. You too."

* * *

 

With that, she snaps her head forward, rushing down the hall. Everything remains eerily quiet, the only sound in Shaw’s ears is the adrenaline coursing through her veins. One of the metal doors swings open, and before the man can even fully pass through, Shaw embeds three bullets into his chest. Instantly, he goes down, and sounds crash in like raging waves.

Doors clatter open, voices shout in alarm and anguish, and the clicking of safeties unlocked hammer into the echo-catching corridor. Even in the dim light of the warehouse, Shaw can see enough to know what she’s up against. Raising her gun, she walks forward steadily, firing without pause. Ducking and weaving, she takes two men out. Then, her clip feeling dangerously light, she drops to the floor, picks up one of the dead men’s guns, and continues her stride. Like flies, the group of gun wielding operatives drops to nothing more than a tangle of pulled wings and twitching, useless legs. Satisfied, Shaw allows herself a small smile, holstering her gun. Brushing a loose strand of hair out of her slightly perspired face, she says, “The right wing is cleared.” She can hear the pleased undertones in her voice.

"That’s my girl," Root’s affectionate voice plays in Shaw’s ears, and she shakes her head with a smile.  _Too proud to be mad_ , she thinks, coming to a bend in the hall. There is a scampering of feet just behind her, and before she has the time to turn around, a dark skinned man in a crisp suit throws himself at her. She falls to the ground, his staggering height and muscular mass overpowers her strength to stand. She watches as her gun skitters and smacks against the edge of the far wall. Her battle mode getting the best of her, Shaw quickly regains a standing position. The man matches her stride for stride. Finally, Shaw gets a painful punch into the man’s solar plexus. As he bends over, wheezing to catch his breath, Sameen charges for her gun. An inch out of her reach, the man yanks her back. She fumbles for the knife concealed in her front pocket, and just as she grabs it, she feels a sharp, pinching pain in her neck. Instantly her throat tightens- teeth grinding. Out comes the knife.

Once to the thigh, once to the side, and- swinging her arm straight back- one to the upper shoulder. He stumbles back, gasping in breaths of air. Instantly, his suit blossoms with red flowers of blood, then BANG. BANG. Down.

Turning quickly, Shaw sees Root standing, two guns raised, in her double vision. Things blur, and the dim lights seem to flicker out even more.

"Sameen?" The word is like speaking under water as it lackadaisically drifts into Shaw’s ears. She looks up and over to Root, but finds it impossible to keep her steadily in sight. Shaw watches, eyelids pulling down with the weight of the world, as Root puts away her weapons and runs forward. "Sameen!" The word is a scream, but barely pulls through Shaw’s mind as a whisper. Her eyes strain to see, yet nothing but darkness is there. She feels her legs fold up like a telescope, but never feels the smack of the cold floor.

And it was because she hadn’t. Root grabs Shaw under her arms just in time to slow the lead drop to a drifting feather’s fall. Root softly lays her down, inspecting her closely. Root puts her ear close to Shaw’s mouth- still breathing. Two fingers to her jugular- heart still beating. She looks up, keeping the same small distance between the two of them as her eyes scan the ground. In the small light, she sees the glint of an empty needle. Holding in her anguish, Root picks herself up off of Shaw, then grabs her from behind. Fingers locked together around Shaw’s waist, Root pulls upwards. Once stable, she drags Shaw back towards the way she came. Two figures round the corner, and Root turns her head, helpless with no hands to spare.

"What happened?" John’s voice demands with worry as he comes over to help Root. Easily, he brings Shaw up in his arms, holding her like a sleeping child.

"I’m not sure," Root replies worriedly, her voice quickening with hysteria. "I rounded the corner, and she was facing a man, I shot him, but when she turned around something was wrong. I think he injected her with something."

"Well, bring her back right away," Harold’s voice patches through crisply. "I’ll see what I can do for her."

_______\ If Your Number’s Up /________

After the long walk back avoiding cameras and the eyes of passerby’s, John lays Shaw down on the bench of their headquarters. Harold walks out with his uneven gate- a small medical pack in hand.

"Lionel, you should leave," Harold says, his voice not at all mean. "We cannot have your whereabouts questioned, and you and Mr. Reese have been away from your desks long enough."

"Then why am I the only one leaving?" He asks indignantly.

"Because when am I ever at my desk?" John answers coolly. Fusco, shrugging in a you-got-me-there way, heads up the stairs and out of sight. Instantly, all attention is diverted back to Shaw.

Root sits on the bench at her feet, hand on Sameen’s leg, her eyes brimming with worry. John too has an unease in his crystal eyes, watching as Harold opens the pouch.

"I’m glad I took these extra supplies with me when I had the chance," Harold speaks mindlessly, too focused on his inspection to monitor his words. "Otherwise, we may have had nothing for Miss. Shaw… However," he says, looking up and meeting each one’s gaze in turn. "I don’t think there is anything a medical kit can do."

"Then what?" Root spits. Harold ignores her tone with ease. Getting up, he walks across the empty subway terminal, grabs Bear’s water bowl, then returns. He hesitates a moment, then flips the bowl over, letting the icy water douse Shaw’s face. Almost instantly, she awakens, breathing in sharply from the cold. Satisfied, Harold walks back to return the bowl to its rightful place. Root slides herself closer to Shaw, taking her jacket off and placing it around Shaw’s shoulders. She wipes some of Shaw’s wet hair from her face, tucking the slick strands behind her ear. Shaw doesn’t object. Looking into her eyes, Root sees a hazy film over them. Looking to John, she can see he’s noticed as well.

Root looks back at Shaw, unsettled to see a dopey, lopsided grin cross Shaw’s usually serious face. “Thanks,  _babeeee_.” she holds out her last word, bringing her head in closer to Root. Stunned, Root’s eyes bulge, and she looks straight forward at the wall. With an exaggerated sigh, Shaw lets herself fall into Root’s side, leaning her head on her shoulder, and looking in the same direction as Root.

"Um… Shaw.." John says cautiously, eyes devouring every peculiar second. Shaw turns her head slowly- still resting on Root’s shoulder- to face him.

"Yes. John?" She asks. Before he can find any words to say, she picks up once more. "John  _Reese_ , like a  _Reese_ -ies Cup,” she lets the ‘P’ pop on her lips, then laughs. When she realizes no one else is in on the joke, she slowly giggles her way into submission.

"Harold!" John bellows into the subway car. "I think you broke Shaw!"

"I’m not broken!" Shaw screams, matching his loud voice for no apparent reason. "I’m just fine! Isn’t that right, Root?" She asks her, taking one of Root’s hands in her own. Root feels an electrical surge at the touch, and takes a moment to recover.

"R.. Right."

” _See?_ " Shaw says to John in a told-you-so manner.

John turns, the biggest Oh Boy, written in his eyes.

"What do you mean?" Harold asks, coming out to stand beside Reese.

"Just look at her," Reese replies in a hushed tone out the corner of his mouth. From their angled view of the bench, Harold does as he’s told. Shaw, unaware of their presence, continues to let her mind roam.

"I’m tired. What time is it? Are you hungry?" She asks, with each question she manages to hang farther onto Root. Her eyes droop slightly, and Root nudges her to keep them open.

"It’s nine pm."

"Nine pm!?" Shaw echoes loudly, eyes pulled open in surprise. Then, they go back to their previous state, and she pulls back slightly. "Is that late?"

Root, unsure how to answer the question, replies with a shaky, “Yes?”

Shaw laughs melodically on the bench. “You’re so cute.”

Harold, clearing his throat, turns his attention back to John. “I see what you mean.”

"Is there anything we can do?" Reese asks, eyes darting to Shaw and back. "Before she winds up riding off on a majestic unicorn?"

Harold shrugs his shoulders, then walks up to the two on the bench. He finally has a clear view of both their faces. Shaw’s is relaxed, lively, and her eyes are slightly overcast with other-world thoughts. Root’s is pale with a feverish blush painting her cheeks, and a horribly concealed smile on her face.

"I love your smiles," Shaw tells her, leaning over to look Root in the eyes. After a moment, she hiccups in laughter. "Do you remember when you said that to me? _I do_.” She answers the question she never even asked herself, then leans back on the bench.

"How are you feeling, Miss. Shaw?" Harold’s approach is slow, easing into the conversation. Shaw stands, staggers, and Root darts up to catch her by the arm.

"Just peachy,  _Mr. Finch_.” She winks at him, finding her address to him clever. He looks down, his smile made of one part humor and two parts laughable disbelief.

"That’s good," he says kindly, going along with the conversation to see where it takes them. "Do you remember what happened earlier this evening?"

Shaw purses her lips, thinking hard, then a large and prideful smile stretches across her face. “I. Shot. People.”

"Why uh, yes, you did." Harold says, nodding, his smile plastered as his eyebrows coming together in the way one’s does when talking to an imaginative child. Shaw straightens her posture, pushing her chest forward in a confident stance. Then, her eyes drift to the left.

She gasps.

"Bear!" She cries, opening her arms. The German Shepard gallops over to her, and she drops to a kneel to greet him. "Oh _hello_!” She coos, rubbing and petting him. His tail wags excitedly, seeing a new side to Shaw himself. Above, the concerned trio give each other a mixture of looks. Root’s is from bashful, to worried, to amused. Harold’s serious, to ‘eek’, and back to the previous. John’s shifts from varying degrees of alarmed confusion.

"Hey, Bear," Shaw says in a loud whisper. All three look down at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice the volume of her hushed voice. "I have a secret for you, and you can’t tell anyone." The standing three share quick, nervous glances, then glue their eyes back to the scene at their feet. Shaw’s mouth is close to Bear’s ear, but her whisper doesn’t silence any. "You are my favorite dog," she exclaims, "and Root is my favorite person." With that, she continues to pet Bear as if the conversation never took place, whilst Root’s jaw unhinges.

"Um, Miss. Shaw?" Harold beckons to her, and she stands. "You have had quite the long day. Why don’t you get some rest?"

” _Okayyyy_ ,” she says, putting her hand out. “I’ll take the keys.”

"Actually, Sweetie," Root steps in front of her, placing both hands on either of Shaw’s shoulders. "I think I’ll drive you to my place for the night."

” _Ohhh?_ " Shaw says, the question increasing its pitch at the end, and she gets a knowing smirk on her face. Root turns to look at the two men. Realizing how what she said must have sounded, she opens her mouth to explain.

"No need, Miss. Groves," Harold assures her, a small smile surfacing briefly on his lips. "She needs the supervision."

"Thank you," Root says, eyes filled with gratitude. Then, taking a set of keys out of her pocket, she turns to Shaw. "Let’s go."

________\ We’ll Find You /_______

The car ride was short, but filled with a seemingly endless flow of Shaw’s voice. She asked about dinner, sleep, where they were going, and hummed. Endless humming to a radio that wasn’t even on. But Root didn’t mind. Now alone with Sameen, she finds herself relaxing. Knowing whatever comes from Shaw’s mouth will only be heard by their own ears. She smiles on the drive to her apartment, lost in Shaw’s voice, until she finally arrives at her destination.

Root assists Shaw to an elevator, they travel for a short while, and come to a light wood door.

"New place?" Shaw asks, looking the door up and down.

"You know how the missions are," Root says, laughing to herself. "I’m always moving around." She opens the door to a quaint, insignificant apartment. Just like every other one in this building- the perfect place to hide. To the left is a small hallway leading to the heater room and a bathroom. The entire center is an open layout. A nice-sized, stainless steel kitchen with granite counter tops at the front, met by an island with swivel chairs connecting it to the lounge space effortlessly. In the back, couches and a television face the right wall, where a single door leads into the bedroom.

"Make yourself at home," Root says, flicking on the lights. Instantly, the clusters of gray and black objects come to life in color. Shaw hangs the jacket she’s wearing on the wall rack beside the door, then heads to the couch. She sinks into the soft material, and- kicking her shoes off, curls her feet under herself. Root takes her time to unzip her shoes, then slips into the bedroom.

After a quick change, she finds a pare of sweat pants and a large shirt in the back of her closet. Coming out with them, she hands them to Shaw. “You can get changed, if you want. They might be a little long, but-“

"Thanks," Shaw says, cutting her off. She stands, her balance seeming to have improved since her last attempt, and takes the clothes from Root’s hand. "Where?"

It takes Root a moment, as she looks in Shaw’s eyes. Part of her tries to see if the haze is clearing, but the rest is just mesmerized. “Oh. There.” She jerks her head towards the bedroom. With that, Shaw brushes past. As the door closes, Root feels a wave exhaustion come over her, and she sits on the couch, one hand holding her temple.

She hears banging, a stumble, and something falling but quickly being picked up. Then, the door opens, and Shaw emerges, her hair slightly disheveled. The pant legs encase Shaw’s feet, and she stumbles slightly back over to the couch. Root watches her face in amusement, seeing the smile that only ever flashes stationary on Shaw’s face. She sits down next to Root, kissing her cheek. Then she leans back, groaning loudly.

"Uh, Sam?"

She continues.

"What’s wrong?"

Shaw stops, stays silent a moment, and then picks her head up from the back of the couch just enough to look at Root.

"You make things so  _difficult_ ,” she states in exasperation.

"What do you mean?" Root’s heart starts to pump faster, and she call feel the hum of her nerves scattering.

"For  _me_ ,” Shaw says dumbly, acting as if it is the most obvious answer. “You can always say anything all the  _timeee._  It’s easy for you. I can’t say  _anything._ ”

"You can say whatever you want," Root assures her, bringing her head in close to look at Shaw. Her heart is a sledge hammer as she watches Shaw’s eyes scan her own.

"Okay," Shaw says.

"Okay," Root breathes.

There is a moment of silence between the two of them, both holding serious eyes. Then, Shaw’s mouth turns up in a radiant smile.

"What?" Root asks, brow furrowed as Shaw continues to smile at her. Shaw shrugs.

"Nuthin’."

"No, tell me!" Root insists, a smile crossing her own face now.

Shaw pauses, looking as if she’s struggling to hold something in, but the drugs are still too strong. “You’re very… very pretty. That’s the word.” She looks away, giggling. “I couldn’t think of it for a minute.”

Root smiles. “Tha-“

"And, you’re annoying," Shaw deadpans with a yawn. "But in a good way. Sort of. You get on my nerves, but I like it when you do." She bites her cheek, eyes locked on some speck on the wall. "I don’t tell you this stuff- not sure why I am now- but everything just feels…  _Loose_.” She turns her head to Root with a smile; it becomes slightly more serious as her words continue. “I thought you were  _crazyyy_ when we met. But now that I know you, it all seems normal. In a good way. Always in a good way with you.”

Root wants to stop her, tell her to be quiet, to sleep- anything but talk. A few minutes ago she marveled in the chance to hear all she had to say, but now the fear of uncertainty grips her.  _Does she really want to know all these things? Shaw kept them locked up for a reason, what right does she have to trespass?_  The thoughts swirl in Root’s mind, making her nauseous, but Shaw only continues her soliloquy.

"And I wanted to kill you.  _Realllll_  bad at first. I’m happy I didn’t though. Now I don’t want to kill you. Just kill people that want to kill you instead.” She smiles warmly at Root- as if she just read her the most romantic poem- and Root can’t help but smile back. Then, she clears her throat, not realizing how overwhelmed she actually was.

"I’m tired," Shaw declares again, her heartfelt topic of moments ago seeming like miles in the distance. "What time is it?"

"Ten thirty."

At hearing the words, Shaw’s body seems to fold, every marionette string holding her up is cut, and she flops over onto her side. Her head smacks hard onto Root’s leg, and she winces in surprise.

"Oops. My bad," Shaw chuckles the words out as she closes her eyes, legs curled up on the remaining length of the love seat.

"Goodnight," she says, her voice already thick with the syrup of sleep.

"Night, Sameen." Root sits there, relaxed, but unsure how she will ever get up to go to bed- she decides she doesn’t want to. Placing one hand on Shaw’s shoulder, she lets her head roll to the side, closing her eyes.

"I love you."

Her eyes dart open in a flash, sharp brown irises nearly consumed by bewildered pupils. She freezes, mid breath, feeling her lungs burn.  _Did she just…_ Root’s thought trails off as her mind takes a nose dive. Everything feels tight. Her chest, her throat, her muscles- she can barely take the feeling.  _Funny_ , she thinks with, ironically, no humor.  _I can be tortured for days and be fine, but don’t tell me you love me or I may implode_.  _But perhaps it wasn’t the fact that it was said, but rather who said it._  Through all the sparrows on crack fluttering in her brain, Root realizes something: She’s waiting.

Quickly, Root tries to gather herself. She wants to say it, has wanted to for a while.  _It should be easy_ , she says to herself, yet the words stick in her throat. So many uncertainties grip her from all angles, ominous hands covering her mouth, making it impossible to speak. Uncertainties-  _what will happen? Where will things go? Will Sameen remember any of this at all?_  That question hammers at her most.  _What if she doesn’t? What if she wakes up tomorrow oblivious to all the things I know? And to keep it all a secret, how it would burn. But what does it matter? Either she won’t have a clue what I say, or she’ll have said it first_. With that thought now easing her mind, the hands release their grip. Root starts to speak when-

Snoring. Barely audible at first, and then a steady, quite sound. Root laughs noiselessly to herself, all the anxiety on her shoulders seeming to dissipate, leaving nothing but fatigue and contentment in its wake.  _To any God or AI database listening_ , Root thinks jokingly to herself,  _please let this wear off by morning_. Then, she leans over Shaw, her nose kissing Shaw’s ear.

"I love you too, Sam." She whispers. Sameen makes a noise in her sleep, a small and drowsy smile loosely forming on her lips.

In a voice drunk with sleep, she replies, “You better.”


End file.
